


Our Girl

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [112]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8548249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Harry Potter, Sirius Black + Harry Potter, If Sirius had never gone to Azkaban."Hermione Granger's observations on her neighbors Sirius Black, Harry Potter, and Moony Lupin.





	

Mrs. Granger said that Sirius Black was a hoodlum and a rebel, but Hermione thought he was handsome. He had wild black hair he wore in a ponytail, and he drove a loud, rumbling motorcycle, and his leather jacket was just like the one Danny wore in _Grease_. Hermione liked to watch him roar past on the street. Mr. Granger admitted that yes, Mr. Black had a bit of a wild streak, but he was a good soul, especially with his nephew Harry.  
  
Harry was quite obviously Mr. Black’s relative, for he had the same wild black hair, though he wore it short and it was untameable. Hermione had seen the school nurse attack Harry’s hair with a comb before his picture on picture day, and Harry had submitted with a sigh.  
  
“It’s just like that, Miss,” Harry protested.  
  
No amount of combing would tame it.  
  
The only person who ever came close to taming Harry’s hair was Mr. Lupin, who was Mr. Black’s valet or something. The adults nudged each other pointedly and sometimes even winked when they talked about Mr. Lupin and Mr. Black, perennial bachelors, so very Holmes and Watson, eh? Where Mr. Black was a biker rebel, Mr. Lupin was much more sensible, with his cardigans and wool trousers, always with a book in hand. Mr. Lupin had some sort of chronic illness and spent a few days indoors every month when it got the worst of him.  
  
Mrs. Granger thought perhaps he’d been a soldier of some sort, with all those scars on his face.  
  
Mr. Granger said Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin had been schoolmates and taken in young Harry when his parents died.  
  
Hermione wasn’t sure what to think of Harry. He was quiet, and his green eyes were big behind his glasses. He was smart, but not as smart as Hermione. He was the type of child who Mrs. Granger would say had his head in the clouds. He believed in magic, which was silly. When Hermione asked, he said he wanted to grow up to become a wizard. He didn’t have many friends, but he was very nice - would share his snacks and books without being asked, and he was invited to every party, always brought thoughtful gifts. He rambled around town by himself, accompanied only by his massive black dog Padfoot.  
  
Now, Padfoot was a very intelligent dog, and Hermione liked him. He had soft fur and he could do impressive tricks. Harry would talk to him, sometimes, which Mrs. Granger said was silly, but Hermione was sure Padfoot understood what people said.  
  
No one was quite sure what Mr. Black did for a living. He was always tinkering on his motorcycle, and he’d look at other people’s cars and motorcycles for free (he really could fix anything), but he didn’t seem to have a job. Mr. Lupin tutored Harry in Latin and some other special subjects, like botany and astronomy, but the person who paid him was Mr. Black.  
  
Mrs. Granger and some of the other mums on the street speculated that Mr. Black was the estranged son of some lord or duke or earl, and that he lived off of money from the Black family’s estates, wherever they were.  
  
Hermione did her best to be nice to Harry, because she didn’t have many friends either. Where people thought Harry was peculiar because he talked to his dog and was being raised by his eccentric uncle, people thought Hermione was peculiar because she liked to read so much and knew so many strange bits of trivia. People also thought Harry was peculiar because he - did things sometimes. Spoke to a snake once at the zoo, the other kids said, though Harry denied it (Hermione had witnessed it). Hermione did things sometimes, too. Once Alice Hemingway made Hermione cry by making fun of her teeth and her hair, and Hermione burst into tears, and then the blue sky began to pour rain. Right onto Alice and only onto Alice.

When Hermione was eleven, she received a special letter. It was delivered via owl, and it had a green wax seal. She was a witch, not peculiar. She had magic, and she had the chance to go to a special school to learn to control her magic.  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who’d done their best to ignore the time Hermione broke a mirror when she woke screaming from a nightmare, were relieved. There was an explanation for what she could do.  
  
Hermione wouldn’t be going to secondary school with everyone else on the street. She wanted to go to Hogwarts. It would be months before she went, but she started to say goodbye to her life, her town. Mr. Black and his roaring motorcycle. Mr. Lupin and his cardigans and his heavy leather-bound books. Harry and Padfoot. The school, and the playground, and the library where Hermione had read every book twice.  
  
Hermione carried her letter with her everywhere, would unfold it and read it after Alice made fun of her or something else peculiar (magical) happened.  
  
She was sitting on a bench in the park, scanning it over, when Harry ran past. He was chasing Padfoot, who’d stolen his green scarf, and laughing. Padfoot spotted Hermione, dropped the scarf, and trotted toward her. He nosed the parchment curiously, and Hermione folded it, to put it away. Harry scooped up the scarf and hurried after Padfoot.  
  
“No, bad Padfoot. Don’t slobber all over Hermione’s papers.” Harry tugged ineffectually on Padfoot’s collar. Padfoot was massive, like a small pony. And then he paused, stared at Hermione’s letter, eyes wide.  
  
Hermione folded it up quickly, shoved it into her pocket. “It’s rude to read other people’s things,” she snapped.  
  
“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to. Are you -?”  
  
Padfoot took off running before Harry finished his question, dragging Harry after him.  
  
Hermione, flustered, hopped off of the bench and hurried home. She flung herself on the sofa and read the letter over again. She wondered what Hogwarts would be like, what Diagon Alley would be like, how they’d even find it if her parents had no magic.  
  
And then there was a knock at the door.  
  
Hermione set her letter aside and went to answer it. Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, and Harry stood on the doorstep.  
  
“Heya, Hermione.” Mr. Black winked at her.  
  
Hermione blushed. He was very handsome.  
  
“Hello, Hermione. May we speak to your mum and dad?” Mr. Lupin asked.  
  
Hermione nodded. She hurried into the kitchen where Mr. and Mrs. Granger were making tea. Mrs. Granger invited the two men and Harry into the room, invited them to sit on the sofa, and told Hermione to fetch the tea.  
  
“Now,” Mr. Granger said, sitting beside Mrs. Granger on the love seat, “what can we do for you?”  
  
“Actually,” Mr. Lupin said, “it’s what we can do for you. Harry says Hermione received a Hogwarts letter.”  
  
Hermione, just setting the tea tray down on the coffee table, shot Harry a poisonous glare.  
  
Mrs. Granger and Mr. Granger exchanged looks. “Pardon?”  
  
Mr. Black smiled. “Moony and I graduated from Hogwarts. Class of 1979. Harry’s letter should arrive on his eleventh birthday. Professor McGonagall usually pays a visit to a Muggleborn’s family, but Professor Dumbledore gave us permission to speak to you.”  
  
“Muggleborn?” Mrs. Granger asked.  
  
“A magical child born to non-magical parents,” Mr. Lupin said.  
  
“Please,” Mr. Granger said. “Explain.”  
  
And Hermione listened, awed, as Mr. Black and Mr. Lupin explained about the wizarding world. Mr. Black came from a family of all witches and wizards. Mr. Lupin’s mum had been a muggle, but his father was a wizard. Harry’s mum had been muggleborn like Hermione, his father wizarding-born like Mr. Black. Mr. Black was actually Harry’s godfather, raised him after his parents died while Harry was still a baby.  
  
“It all sounds so wonderful,” Hermione said. “Is that why your dog is so smart? Padfoot? He’s a magical dog, isn’t he?”  
  
Mr. Lupin cast Mr. Black a disapproving look.  
  
“Yes, he is magical,” Mr. Black said. He cleared his throat. “Harry, why don’t you and Hermione go have a chat? Show her some of your photos.”

The leather-bound volume Harry had under one arm turned out to be a photo album. Hermione showed Harry up to her bedroom, and they sat cross-legged on the floor together, looking through the photos. Which were magical. They moved. There were photos of Harry’s parents. They waved and blew kisses, danced together, smiled. There were photos of Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, and Harry’s dad when they were in school, in Hogwarts uniforms.  
  
There was a photo of Harry flying on a broom, and Harry playing fetch with Padfoot, and Harry brewing potions with Mr. Lupin.  
  
“I can’t wait to go to Hogwarts,” Hermione said.  
  
Harry glanced at her. “You might not go.”  
  
“What? Why not? I was accepted.”  
  
“Moony and Sirius think I don’t know,” Harry said. “It’s why they sent us up here. So they could talk to your parents about the dangers.”  
  
“Dangers?”  
  
Harry nodded and explained, in his soft voice, about how an evil wizard - like Hitler - tried to kill him when he was a baby, had killed his parents. His followers, like him, hated muggleborns and anyone with muggle blood, and for Hermione to go to Hogwarts might be dangerous for her. But Harry - he had to go. He was the last of the Potter line, and the Black line, and the Lupin line, and he had to learn magic so he could protect himself in the magical world. But Hermione could be safe, if she stayed in the muggle world.  
  
“No,” Hermione said. “I want to go with you.”  
  
“I thought you’d say that.” Mr. Black stood in the doorway, with Mr. Lupin and Hermione’s parents.   
  
“Mum, Dad,” Hermione began, but Mr. Granger raised his hand to forestall comment.  
  
“Your parents have given us permission to tutor you in some early magic, alongside Harry,” Mr. Lupin said. “And to teach you about the wizarding world so that when you fully enter it, you will be prepared. Would you like that?”  
  
“Teach me, please.” Hermione was on her feet.  
  
Mrs. Granger smiled. “That’s our girl.”  
  
On Hermione’s first day at Hogwarts, she held her head high as she was sorted into Gryffindor, and she kept a space open on the bench beside her, because Mr. Black swore Harry would also be in Gryffindor, and Mr. Lupin said he’d need someone to look out for him, and when Harry sat down beside her, Hermione knew their fates would be twined together for at least the next seven years.


End file.
